


Please Do

by takingcourage



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, Rated to be Safe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29420793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takingcourage/pseuds/takingcourage
Summary: For a man who's been called "atrocious" with women, Martin fares rather well with a certain princess.
Relationships: Martin Crieff/Theresa of Liechtenstein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Please Do

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the product of my longstanding curiosity about the progress in Martin and Theresa's relationship between the events of Xinzhou and Zurich, especially when it comes to him having "ideas" in bed. 
> 
> It's soft and slow and intimate without being explicit -- if that's the kind of thing you like to read, I hope you enjoy!

Martin was dreaming; he knew he was. How else could he explain the weight of another body on the mattress... or the shivery incline of hair as a slender arm passed within sensing distance of his own? His eyes fluttered shut with the feeling of wonder that pushed everything else from his mind. How long had it been since he’d had a woman beside him in bed? In what universe was it possible that he would have a _princess_ there?

“Are you all right?” Theresa’s voice was just above a whisper.

He took a steeling breath, already berating himself for leaving his eyes closed a moment too long. He forced the lids open and turned to face her. “Great.” If he hadn’t been so focused on the graceful curve of her ear, he might have noticed the way his brow lifted in the hope that she would find his answer reassuring.

The crease of her forehead was enough to show that she didn’t, though his attention was soon drawn further down her face to the growing smile that played on her lips. “I’m nervous too, you know?” Theresa studied him, familiar enough to read his confusion even before he opened his mouth to speak. “After all,” she began again, knowing it would be better for her to put his fears to rest than to let him continue questioning, “I like you very much, Martin. More than anyone I've gone out with, actually. And I’ve never been the kind of person who hops into bed with just anyone.”

“Neither have I,” he sighed, and Theresa wished she could ease the tension from his rigid shoulders. “I just want this to be good for you. I haven’t had much practice, and you deserve --” Martin could feel that the words were running away with him, even before he became conscious of her steady gaze. Allowing the sentence to trail, he worried a wedge of his inner cheek.

“I deserve a man who cares enough to think about those things," she agreed. "But I’m more concerned with what I want. _Who_ I want.”

“And you want me?” He stumbled over the final monosyllable.

“Very much,” she confirmed, laying a hand on his thigh before she could think better of the motion. Three months ago, Martin would have bristled at the contact, but now he returned it with a gesture of his own, tucking a wisp of hair behind the shell of her ear. “I want this. I promise.”

He licked his lips, still more tentative than she would have liked. 

Shifting to face him head on, she tried another tack. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you want to do? If I agree, you’ll know I want it too.” He’d been a very quick study of her responses so far; she knew it wouldn’t be long before he could gauge her well enough to trust his instincts.

“O-okay. I’d like to kiss you, quite a lot.”

“Then kiss me.”

They’d kissed countless times before, but both knew there was something different in the gesture tonight. Theresa caught the tremble of movement as he swallowed and leaned forward, and she carded her fingers through his curls just so, hoping that the gesture would have the same relaxing effect that it had when she'd first discovered it. Martin sighed with the touch, his breath feathery against her open lips as they closed the distance.

Theresa still tasted of sugar and cream from her coffee -- luxuries Martin had spent many years doing without, save on flights or occasions when he was taking the drink with his mum. He’d grown so used to black coffee that even now, he rarely thought to add anything. The hint of sweetness on her lips was tantalizing enough to make him reconsider. Certainly, it was more than enough incentive to keep kissing her. Her hold on his curls tightened as his tongue brushed against her plush Cupid’s bow. The taste now was less pronounced -- a hint instead of the strong contrast it had been before.

He leaned back ever so slightly, sucking her lower lip with an almost questioning slowness. The whimpering response was so soft that he wondered if he might have imagined it. Instead, it was the way her hand delved between the buttons of his shirt -- the best one he owned, aside from his uniform -- that encouraged him to continue. He tried again, this time with a graze of teeth before soothing the spot with his tongue.

There was hesitation in his eyes when he pulled away. Still catching her breath, Theresa offered him a smile that was both eager and satisfied. “You’ve never done that before.”

His eyes grew a shade darker they narrowed in concern. “Was it okay? You seemed to…”

“I liked it very much,” she finished for him, as relieved as he was to see his chest swell with a sigh. “You can do it again if you want to.” A marvelous blush stole over his already pink cheeks.

Still feeling as though he were floating, Martin removed the hand he’d been using to prop himself on the mattress, using it instead to cup the nape of her neck. The added leverage gave him more control as he shifted angles for a deeper kiss. Though barely conscious of anything beyond her lips, he felt her thumb the button at his sternum. Martin’s breath hitched when the sensation tightened and the button slipped through. “Theresa,” he whispered, fanning his fingers through the fine tendrils that had fallen out of her loose bun. Encountering a sliver of metal, his hand slowed.

Theresa’s shiver of pleasure was cut short by the tug of the bobby pin yanking her sensitive flesh. Though his effort had been cautious and slow, his technique left something to be desired. She tried to disguise her sudden wince, but knew immediately that it hadn’t been subtle enough to escape his notice. “Here,” she suggested, turning away to give him fuller access. “Now you can see them better.”

Some part of her worried that he might decline the invitation, though the concern soon proved to be in vain. Long, gentle fingers found their mark, prying open the hinge of the metal before pulling down. Though not a perfect attempt, it was a significant improvement on his previous effort. By the time her hair fell freely about her shoulders, the process had become much more comfortable for them both.

There was a sudden, self-conscious twinge as Martin transferred the handful of pins to the bedside table. She almost never wore her hair this way. It had always seemed too mousy, a little too fine and too flat to improve her features in any measurable way. During her adolescent years, it had grown to a point of contention: a foolish competition between herself and her next-eldest sister. Unfortunately for her, Evangeline had been graced with curls that were as effortless as they were golden. Theresa had worn hers up and back ever since. The only time Martin had seen it any other way had been when they'd gotten caught in that storm the first time they’d visited London together.

Almost reverently, Martin lifted the soft waves to one side. Though the skin at her neck had been exposed before, the sight was so much more intimate now that he’d been the one to uncover it. Leaning forward, he pressed an impulsive kiss just above her collarbone. As he approached her warm skin, her scent became stronger: apples and some flower he couldn't quite identify. The short hairs still dangling behind that ear tickled his cheek, and he couldn’t help smiling at the sensation.

Her skin was impossibly soft. Feeling it beneath his lips, he wondered if he would ever be able to _stop_ touching her now that he'd started. The collar of her sweater had fallen to the side, and the closer he came to the edge, the hotter her skin became. If her uncovered skin was this warm… well, he was very curious to know about what still remained hidden.

She shifted her weight as he pulled away, and Martin seized the opportunity to draw her nearer. Turning her around to face him, he carried her easily to his lap. Still wavy from the bun, her hair framed either side of her heart-shaped face, creating an enchanting interplay between the shadows and the yellow light of the bedside lamps as she hovered mere centimeters above him.

Theresa tucked a loose strand behind her ear and settled closer, eliminating much of the remaining space that separated them. She watched, entranced, as his tongue skimmed over lips that were starting to look as swollen as hers felt. A brighter red than usual, they stood in sharp contrast to his pale, freckled cheeks and lust-blown eyes.

He was nervous. Again.

Grin tugging at the corner of her mouth, she hooked a leg to straddle his hips. She wanted to press in further, to catalyze the reaction that had been building between them for what felt like an eternity. But even more than that, she wanted this to be everything he’d dreamt and planned for. Steadying herself with a breath, she ran the tips of her fingers down his strong cheekbones.

She’d asked him once if he knew how many models would kill for those cheekbones. He’d insisted that they were too angular, too sharp on his already scrawny body. Still, she’d seen the way his eyes sparkled with her further protestations. It was the same shine that came to them each time she mentioned his deceptively strong arms or how much she liked the sound of his singing.

His eyes were shining that way now as he gazed up at her, intent with equal parts astonishment and adoration, and Theresa’s heart clenched with the increasingly familiar realization: she was so far gone. Neither of them had put it into words, but there was no longer any question in her mind. She loved him.

She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t told him yet, but it certainly wouldn’t be the first time she’d held her tongue in fears of overwhelming him. Those times were growing fewer and farther between, but she had no desire to muddy the waters today -- not when they were already proving their love in another way.

“Is kissing all you had in mind?” Despite her attraction, she somehow managed to make the question sound more like an invitation than a demand.

“No.” He caught the hand that still lingered on his cheek, brushing her knuckles with an unsteady thumb. “There was more.”

Though she waited for him to elaborate, her patience wore thin sooner than she’d have liked to admit. “Such as?”

“Taking this off.” His words left room for her to offer suggestions, but his tone was starting to grow stronger, more certain. Pinching the weave of her sweater between two fingers, he left little doubt as to his intentions.

Martin watched her brow raise in challenge, and he was almost deaf with the sound of blood pounding in his ear. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation -- his abnormality saw to that, after all -- but it was the first time he could remember knowing that the drumming in his skull signified something good.

Dropping the hand that still clung to hers, his fingers met the gentle swell of her hips before hesitating. Should he pull it off in a single, eager motion? Should he savor it? Was there some combination of the two that was less risky?

“Martin…?”

It wasn’t until the whispered syllables that he realized he’d frozen up again and offered a quick, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she urged in a whisper. Her light blue eyes were trained on him as she leant just a bit closer.

The silky tips of her hair bounced over the line of her jaw, casting dancing shadows on the golden skin beneath. Both hands still clasped at her sides, he craned down to the column of her throat, kissing the tender flesh until she trembled beneath his grasp.

“Martin…”

This time, the quiet word wasn’t a question, but a plea. He tightened his grip on her hem, still nuzzling her neck as he slowly rolled the fabric higher. His knuckles made contact with bare skin, skimming the heat of her stomach and the ridges of bone at her ribcage, and he found himself too distracted to continue removing the garment. He didn’t need to see her to know that she was perfect. The way her waist fit between his palms couldn’t be described as anything less. Before, he'd touched slivers of skin if their kissing had turned particularly passionate, but his hands had never been filled with her. Up to now, he had known only hints, nothing approaching the real thing. It was all he could do not to groan into the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

Feeling his teetering breath, Theresa squeezed the hand that rested on his thigh. She didn’t want to rush him, but the rational part of her brain insisted that her own hands should be jealous of the free rein he’d been given. Even so, rational thoughts were becoming increasingly hard to come by. She rolled her hips instinctively as his thumb skimmed the lower band of her bra.

“I don’t want this to go too quickly,” Martin explained, both hands winding their way back down her torso. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long.”

Though she shared the sentiment, a more pragmatic thought occurred to her as he returned to her disheveled hem. “I’m not rushing out on you afterward. This isn't going to be our last time together.”

Later, when he was back in his right mind, this was an assurance that Martin would remember often: her fervent conviction -- her desire -- for something more lasting than a single night together. It was probably too early in the relationship to be considering marriage, but he’d never been very good at keeping his dreams from flying off with him. He toyed with the hem of her sweater a moment longer, rifling through the many ways he’d imagined exploring their intimacy in a form that was physical as well as verbal.

The pads of his fingers stole over her hip bones, seeking and finding the heat that was still covered by an all-too-thick layer of denim. Her sharp intake of breath spurred him onward, his hands delving deep into the satin of her skin.

No longer content to take a passive role, Theresa's hands moved from his thigh to the hole she’d already started opening in his shirt. Though she’d had much more experience in buttoning than in unbuttoning -- life with so many younger siblings had ensured it -- her fingers were steady as they travelled further and further down Martin’s chest. She caught her lower lip between her teeth when the shirt fell open.

There was a flash of panic in Martin’s eyes, searching as they moved across her face, though she dispelled it quickly with her own hungry gaze. Her heart clenched at his sigh when she pushed the garment off his shoulders. “I’ll quite like waking up to this view,” she murmured, leaning back to hook the collar of his shirt over the bedpost.

“Then it’s a good thing you’re staying the night.”

“Very good,” she agreed, thumbing the dusty line of hair that started at the center of his chest. His lips parted with the gentle touch before his grip on her tightened. When he met her eyes again, she gave what she could only hope was an encouraging smile.

“I think my view will be even better.”

She giggled, the puffs of air stirring the curls at his forehead. “You haven’t even taken anything off yet, aside from the pins! And you may be wishing they were back by morning,” she added in an undertone.

“I won’t,” he promised. “You don’t know how many times I’ve woken up and imagined seeing your face before anything else. Not having to imagine? I already know it’s going to be spectacular. Even if I don’t see any other part of you -- though I’d like to, of course, very much. But I’d be satisfied with just seeing your smile...your eyes...your --” There was a short pause before he resumed. “Sorry.” Another breath. “I’m not going to be distracted any more.”

Between the coyness of her smile and the faint blush on her cheeks, it would have been impossible for Theresa to deny how much she enjoyed it when he became distracted. Even so, she couldn’t say she was disappointed when he made good on his word.

* * *

Quite some time later -- it was rather astounding that she had so little idea _how much_ time later, usually she was extremely good at calculating the hour -- she was curled up at his side, cheek rising and falling along with the steady rhythm of his breath. Arm draped over his chest, one hand still traced aimless circles along his side while his fingers wove their way through her hair. His leg straightened, and she hitched a thigh over his hip.

“I don’t even want to move,” Martin told her with a sigh. He gently combed though the roots of her hair, still faintly damp with sweat.

With anyone else, Theresa may have been flustered by his idle movement. But with Martin, the thought of shame didn’t even cross her mind. She was too satisfied, too full of affection and awe to give space to anything so trivial. “We don’t have anywhere we have to be until check out tomorrow. But I meant what I said earlier: I’m expecting much more of this in the future.”

She didn’t elaborate on exactly how much she was expecting, but the number was hovering somewhere near infinity.

“It’s good to know you still feel that way.”

Raising one fist to prop up her chin, she found an obscured view of his sparkling eyes. “I’d have thought my reactions just then would be enough to convince you.”

He turned scarlet to the tips of his ears. “I rather hoped so.” His fingers shifted to cradle her neck, thumb pressing lightly into the slack muscle. “This whole dating-a-princess thing still feels a bit too good to be true.”

There was a quick, sharp pinch at his shoulder, and he yelped before registering that it had been made with Theresa’s teeth. Raising his head off the pillow, he met her waiting eyes.

“That’s your reminder that I’m not too good to be true. I’m not too good for anything, really -- and especially not too good for you.”

The sensuous lines of her mouth settled into a comfortable smirk, and he felt himself melting as she continued to hold his gaze. She was so patient with him, so understanding, so beautiful. Despite her protests, he wasn’t certain there was anything he could ever do to deserve having someone who saw to his needs so fully.

“Just wait until you smell my breath in the morning… and meet the rest of my sisters. Or you have to attend boring state dinners with me. No one ever talks about the strings attached to dating a princess.”

“Probably because relatively few people ever get the opportunity,” Martin noted, swelling with pride when her cheek settled back onto his chest. “Are you certain you’d want me to attend those dinners? Seems like the kind of setting where I might not be very useful.”

“I’ve started wanting you with me all of the time.” Her confession seemed to come as a surprise to both of them, for there was a brief silence before she continued. “And absolutely nothing could make those dinners worse. Getting the chance to show you off might make them more fun.”

“Sh-show me off?” He stumbled over the words, almost as if they were foreign.

“Of course!” she insisted, pushing up from his chest a second time. Impulsively, he reached out to brush away the hair that swung over her eyes. “You’re the first man I’ve dated because I wanted to. Unlike all of the men my mother's tried setting me up with, you didn’t need to inherit anything or have any title to catch my attention -- no, not even Captain,” she smiled demurely, tracing down the light stubble that freckled his jaw in the low light. “I’d say that makes you pretty special, hmm?”

Dragging his fingers over her brow, he considered her question. “I don’t think anyone’s shown me off since my mum when I was about seven. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Then get used to it,” she purred, catching his hand as it reached the tip of her ear. “I’m proud of you, Martin.” The tenor of his sigh said that he wanted to believe her. “You’re passionate;” spreading out his fingers, she slid her own through the spaces, interlocking as she added further items to the list. “You’re tenacious and determined, you’re good to me, you have these magnificent curls,” though her hand stayed anchored to his, she gazed fondly over his hairline. “A lovely smile -- and, I’ve just discovered, you’re quite nice to have in bed. Why wouldn’t I want people to know you?”

Usually, his mind would have been all-too-ready to supply a list of insecurities, yet, somehow, he found himself able to forget them in her presence.

“If I get the job with Swiss Air, maybe you’ll get the chance.”

“I’d make the chance anyway,” she assured him, and he felt the blush return to his cheeks with her sincerity. “But I think you’ll get it.” Her eyes narrowed, shining bright against the sunny hue of the lamps. “Especially with my kisses for luck.” She was close enough for him to feel her breath on his lips.

“I’ll take all of them I can get.” He closed the distance, one hand on the back of her neck to lower her down to his level. Goodness knew she’d been his lucky charm, even before kissing had entered the equation. Far from the struggling give and take he’d been used to for most of his adult life, it finally felt like things were falling into place. So much of that was down to her.

He tried and failed to contain a groan as she fell against him, feeling her laughter in the blast of air from her nostrils. Martin pulled her even closer, marveling at just how full his arms felt with her in them. That sense of fullness, of completion, brimmed over until he was practically drowning in it.

“I love you.”

It was a whisper rushed between kisses -- if he were honest, probably not the kind of proclamation that she deserved. Yet, in the moment, it was the only thing in his mind -- not even a conscious thought, perhaps, but all of his consciousness wrapped up in a single sentiment.

Theresa’s heart plunged into overdrive; she wondered if Martin could feel its quivering speed beneath his fingertips when she pulled back from his kiss-bruised mouth. Below, his eyes were open...vulnerable…waiting. She caught herself with a short gasp, realizing a beat too slowly how her silence must appear to the poor, worried man beneath her.

“I’m sorry -- I shouldn’t have...I mean, you don’t have to say it ba--”

In light of his stuttering, she resorted to her favorite foolproof tactic. Sometimes, smothering him with a kiss was the best approach. He responded just as she’d hoped, though she couldn’t ignore the pang of regret in her own chest that eventually pushed her away. “I love you very much, Martin.”

With those words, his heart began beating again. The immediate rush of blood overtook his senses, nearly drowning out the rest of her words.

“I have for quite some time.”

“Really?” he was regaining his senses, but slowly. It still took a couple of seconds for him to notice the glint of tears in the corner of one eye. He let out a low breath at her cheeky nod.

“Not nearly as long as I plan to keep loving you.” One hand combing through his crop of ginger curls, she nuzzled her face into the warmth between his jaw and throat.

“I would hope not.”

She smiled at the quiet observation. “I think I just might love you forever, Martin Crieff.”

Martin was already entirely certain that he’d be returning the favor. In his current frame of mind, it was impossible to imagine a time when he wouldn't adore every part of her.

“Please do.”


End file.
